


An Early Morning Wager

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Series: Wicked Westerosi Wagers [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff and Smut, POV Sandor Clegane, Rough Night, Rough Sex, Smut, Teasing, What Happened?, Your cock knows but not you, bad Memory, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi A/U, SanSan:  There's a lot to celebrate in Westeros, the Night King has been defeated and Jon is throwing a feast in Winterfell. After a heavy night of drinking and fun, Sandor wakes up next to the last person on earth he was expecting and finds out he made a wager that could heavily influence his future love life.My first attempt at a fic that is more on the funny side. This will be paired with another story called "A Late Night Wager" which will be from Sansa's point of view. The idea is that the stories stand alone, but are best if read together -- meaning chapter for chapter. I will link them once the other is up too.





	1. An Early Morning Wager

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something new. Here's to hoping it's well recieved and my concept doesn't explode in my face ;-)

**Chapter 1: An Early Morning Wager**

 

The bit of sun that crept through the crack in the shutters of Sandor’s small, yet comfortable room in Winterfell fell right on his face, abruptly waking him up from his deep, alcohol induced slumber.

 

“Fuuuuuck.” He mumbled under his breath, turning his face away from the offending ray of sun and pulling the covers over his head.  _ ‘Of all the mornings to be fucking sunny...it’s never fucking sunny in the bloody North.’ _

 

It had been a good long while since Sandor had drank that much, shit he couldn’t even remember how the night ended.  _ ‘Well if the size of my bloody headache has something to say about it, Jon fucking Snow can throw one hell of a party.’  _

 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t had something worth celebrating -- a victory over those white walkers and their cunt of a King was better than anything he could come up with. Over the years of the war beyond the wall, many things had changed. Sandor knew Jon’s real name, but he’d be damned if he was actually going to call that feisty son of a Targaryian that. They had gone to north with Jon Snow and as far as Sandor was concerned, they had come back with him too. Sure, those that had survived the war were not the same -- Sandor could certainly vouch for that. But some things would never change, like the name of somebody you respect -- or the memory of someone you love.

 

_ ‘Sansa.’ _ Rolling on his back and removing the covers from his head, Sandor smiled through the pain of his pounding headache at the thought of her. It had been her memory that had kept him hopeful in the battles against the Night King and his armies. It had been her favor, a small handkerchief with a wolf embroidered on it that he had kept on him for luck -- and by the fucking gods it had gotten him home in one piece. More or less anyway.

 

Jon had bestowed a great honor on him this evening past, he had asked Sansa if Sandor could be her sworn shield. ‘ _ The sworn shield of the Lady of Winterfell.’ _

 

He grinned at the thought of being near her daily, watching over her, her scent in his nostrils. It had taken him going through hell and back to have earned such an honor, but it had been worth it. Sansa had blushed demurely as Sandor had accepted Jon’s offer -- that part he had remembered. That had been before the real party had begun. Sandor was not short on courage, somehow he always seemed to have the biggest pair of balls when the need arose. Yet he had never been able to tell her how he felt about her, not in King’s Landing, not before he had set off for war from Winterfell -- and not now.

 

_ ‘This will do.’  _ He assured himself as he put a palm over his forehead in a vain attempt to squash the pain of the most gigantic hangover he had had in recent memory. But just as he did that he felt something, or more accurately someone, shift next to him in bed. There was a sinking feeling in his gut as he carefully, slowly, even tentatively turned his head toward the other side of his bed. 

 

Sandor exhaled more loudly than he would have liked.  _ ‘A fucking whore?!’ _

 

Sure he had gone the entire three years long war without the touch and satisfaction of a woman, so obviously he had been aching for it. But if she was still here in his bed, she was still charging him money on the hour, and probably a premium at that.

 

_ ‘Good one Clegane, you can’t even remember your first fuck in years.’ _ He would have shook his head at the sarcasm of his thoughts, but that would have just made his morning even more miserable.  _ ‘Now just hope she has all her teeth and you’ll be fine.’ _

 

He couldn’t be sure what exactly had transpired between them, but his cock was sore, the room filled with the scent of intense coupling, his morning wood agitating the tenderness of his most prized organ.  _ ‘So it must have been at least good.’  _ A small smile crept across his face that the satisfaction that he hadn’t seemed to have lost his prowess in the bedroom -- particularly after all he had seen and done during the war.

 

Gently he shifted his weight so as to get a better look at the woman laying next to him. She had her back turned to him, her peachy white skin teasingly delicious against the dark furs that covered his bed. She had red hair too, Sandor snorted at this.  _ ‘Well if I can’t have the one I want, at least I can pay for something similar.’  _

 

As he was trying to decide the best approach to  _ wake up _ his now found friend to, of course, make sure he got his money’s worth out of the whole deal, she suddenly breathed deeply, a slight yawn escaping her lips, signaling that she too was awake. As she began to turn in his direction, Sandor turned almost as pale as a white walker, certain he had woken up in a nightmare. 

 

The redhead wore a drowsy smile on her face, her hair tousled about her head as if she’d spent most of the night whipping it around in ecstasy. She reached out her hand and began to run her fingers through his thick rough chest hair as she slowly and rather seductively pulled herself closer to him. Sandor didn’t want to believe his eyes, couldn’t believe his eyes if he didn’t want to see his head on a spike. So he froze, not blinking, not moving, not even breathing -- hoping that when she spoke her voice would not be as familiar as the rest of her. 

 

But to his horror it was.

 

“You know..” she began, her legs rubbing against his own, her fingers drawing circles on his chest, “... I don’t think the Hound is a very fitting name for you.” Slowly his nighttime companion began to straddle him familiarly pushing both her hands over his chest and dragging them down his shoulders. Sandor did his best to control himself, his mouth half open in shock, his eyes still trying to adjust to the reality of what was unfolding before him. His cock sprung up, clearly remembering more than he had about the previous evening’s activities. The traitorous thing was ready, willing and almost begging for his new best friend to give him some attention. 

 

She began to kiss down his neck and over his chest, “I think a more fitting name could be the Stallion or perhaps the Juggernaut of the West.” She was giggling softly now at her own words, making her way down toward his cock. The beautiful woman on top of him was clearly reminiscing about something that had transpired the night before, something  _ he _ had been involved in, something  _ he _ had done -- that  _ he _ couldn’t fucking remember. 

 

_ ‘Damn this headache.’  _ He cursed to himself.

 

Teasingly she stopped her kisses at his belly button and then sat up straight smiling playfully at him. There was no way he could deny it now, blame it on a dream or a hallucination brought on by too much drinking. The beautiful, red-headed ‘whore’ in his bed, was not at all what he thought she was. Rather she was the woman he had sworn to protect, to give life and limb for -- apparently every limb he had on offer. The gorgeous woman straddling him and quite literally begged for more was none other than Sansa Stark.

 

And for the second time that morning he cursed to himself,  _ ‘Fuuuuuuck!’  _

 

Obviously he had always wanted this, he had dreamed about it in his more lonely moments. It wasn’t easy to have time to yourself in a war camp, but when he had, he’d spent that time stroking himself to the mere thought of seeing her naked -- a come hither look in her eyes. But now here she was, her beautiful perky breasts above him, her hair around her shoulders, regarding him as if he were some sort of god in bed -- and he couldn’t remember a bloody fucking thing.

 

_ ‘You’re a fucking tosser Clegane.’  _ He chastised himself as he tried to match her enthusiasm and lust, without looking like he had not remembered anything. Apparently his little smile worked because she grinned back and began lightly stroking his well erect cock with her hands. 

 

_ ‘Well don’t just lay there...do something you big oaf. And quit staring at her like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her.’  _ Slowly Sandor took his fingers and ran them up the back of her legs to her firm little arse. Squeezing her cheeks elicited such a cute seductive little laugh from her that he just wanted to flip her over and bury himself between her legs -- try to regain the lost memories of their first times together.

 

“How about we do that final position from last night again?” She leaned forward again to kiss him, giving him a bit of time to rack his ailing brain for that that might have been. As she sat back she must have noticed the bit of confusion and panic on his face, because she cocked her head to the side with a somewhat knowing look on her face.

 

“You don’t remember do you?” She accused, a devilish smirk on her perfect pink lips.

 

Clearing his throat in a vain attempt to buy some time Sandor spoke, “Just jump on it woman, we’ll make it there eventually.” He was hoping he’d remember the more they got into it, the more time he spent doing what he had dared only ever dream about for nearly a decade.

 

At those words she laughed then smacked him with both of her hands on his chest, “Sandor Clegane you don’t remember!” She was trying to look mad but failing miserably at it, which was not at all the reaction he would have expected -- not at all. 

 

Taking his cock in hand again she kept her little smirk on her face and continued whilst playing with him, “I told you not to drink so much, that you wouldn’t remember a thing if you did.”

 

He snorted at her words, amused and quite frankly relieved that she wasn’t angry with him. “But I do remember.” Sandor lied sheepishly, hoping she’d give into her own instincts and start riding him the way the gods had intended her to.

 

“Oh really?” She narrowed her eyes in challenge. “Then tell me how many times we had sex last night Clegane.”

 

_ ‘Damn it, Others take me.’ _ He said to himself as he struggled to come up with a random number he thought might make sense. 

 

Unable to hide the slight bit of tentativeness in his voice Sandor replied, “Three times.”

 

At this she laughed out loud, throwing her head back, her breasts heaving slightly at his words. By the gods she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on and he couldn’t remember any of this in front of him.  _ ‘You’re a fucking cunt Clegane.’ _

 

“You really don’t remember.” She said still with a smile on her face. “I told you you wouldn’t.” 

 

Seeing as there was no way out of this line of questioning, Sandor went along with it -- with the hopes that they would take the time to ‘kiss and make up’ after the fact. “And what did I say to that?” 

 

Dragging herself up his body and bringing herself face to face with him, she smiled, “You said you would remember everything about this night, because it might never happen again.”

 

Sandor couldn’t deny what she said. First because he legitimately couldn’t recall what had happened after the band had started playing, and second because it sounded like something he would have said in the heat of the moment.

 

“And what happened then?” He asked, dragging his hands over her back and pressing her flush with him. 

 

The dark smile that crossed her face concerned him as she whispered the next words into his ear, “We made a wager.”

 

_ ‘Oh for the love of the fucking Seven.’ _ He cursed to himself, suddenly feeling sick. Sandor was not one to wager, which meant he had probably been drunk enough to agree to just about anything. He was quickly regretting having touched wine at all.

 

“So what did I lose little bird?” He asked, curious as to what had gotten himself into.

 

“We agreed that if you remembered…” She paused a moment, knowing he was listening to her intently. 

 

_ ‘Gods she’s pretty when she’s naughty.’  _ Sandor was kicking himself, knowing that she had probably given him many of these looks last night.

 

“...that I would clear all my agenda for the next three days, and…” She leaned down and nipped at his ear, whispering into it, “...you could have your way with me as much, as often and any way you wanted.”

 

Sandor inhaled deeply, bucking his hips toward hers so she could feel what she was doing to him. He was tired and sore, but not so sore as to not give her everything and anything she wanted.  _ ‘Clegane you were drunk and a fucking idiot.’ _ He reminded himself as she sat up again, seemingly admiring his well formed, sculpted body

 

Hoping he could turn this around for the better, Sandor ran his hands over her thighs and up toward her belly, “And what would you get if I forgot?”

 

“I said that it would indeed be your only time to sleep with me.” At these words Sandor’s heart dropped a bit. Clearly if it had been so good, why would it make any sense to stop -- especially now. 

 

Sitting up he tried to work whatever charms he possessed, which weren’t many. She was straddling his lap, his cock between them, his beard nuzzling her neck.  _ ‘Gods she wants me.’  _ Her fingers laced into his chest hair, she had begun to rub herself against his best part and a slight moan escaped her lips. Never in his wildest dreams could he have ever imagined that she would want him, must less desire him in the way it seemed she did now.

 

“You aren't going to punish me like that, are you Little Bird?” He asked, guiding her hips over the length of his long hard shaft teasingly. 

 

She giggled softly into his ear, her hands rubbing over his chest, “I didn’t know you to be such a shrewd negotiator Clegane.” She was playing with him now, like a cat with a small mouse knowing she had the upper hand. “But I don’t think that my winning this bet would be beneficial to anybody.”

 

Sandor smiled, hardly able to wait for the moment she would sheath him, ‘ _ Maybe then the memories would come back.’  _

 

“I say we make an early morning wager.” Sansa offered, sitting back on her heels so she could get a good look at him. There wasn’t much he could do but agree, to not go along with it might be that she settled for their last wager. So he listened, his impatience growing with every wasted moment they weren’t locked in sexual pleasure.

 

She had a naughty smile as she got off of him and started to search for her dress on the floor near his bed. Sandor was so surprised he couldn’t speak. Sansa continued though -- aware of her hold on him, “If you remember where we had sex and one position we did in each place -- then I will grant your desire. You have until dinner time tonight.”

 

“And if I don’t?” He asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the task at hand. His cock slumped a bit at the idea that it might not get to play with the pretty red head now that she had clothes on.

 

She was wrapping her dress around her and tieing some things about her waist when she looked up at him to answer her question. “Then I suppose you will be doomed to always wonder what it might have been like.”

 

“Sansa!” Sandor said. He wasn’t pleading, not yet anyway. 

 

She grinned playfully, “I have to get ready for court and if you don’t want to get in trouble with the Lady of Winterfell, you had better be ready to accompany her there too.”

 

“You know how to drive a man crazy.” He grinned, hoping she would see the error of her ways and just let them be together again.

 

“It was five by the way.” She smirked as she made her way to the door. 

 

He almost asked,  _ ‘Five what?’ _ before he understood what she was referring to. He’d never gone that long or that furiously with anybody, it must have been quite something. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have to give up drinking. 

 

Throwing him a kiss from the doorway, her eyes were sparkling with mischief. The moment she left Sandor threw himself back on the bed. He’d done plenty of stupid things in his life, but none perhaps so much as finally getting the courage to tell the woman of his dreams he fancied her, then having a mysterious night of unbridled sex in which you can’t even remember what happened. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at his cock, as if it were going to reveal everything he desperately needed to know to him in this moment. It didn’t, clearly angry at him for not pursuing the beautiful red head further. 

 

Finally sitting up in bed, his headache slowly dissipating, Sandor started looking for his armor. He hated wagers, mainly because he often lost. But hopefully not this one. He was determined to beat her at her game, determined to make her scream her pretty little head off for another night at the end of his cock.


	2. A Locket in the Guardhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's hot on the trail of recreating his sexual conquest of the night before. The Guardhouse is his first stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! These sister stories are gonna be short, quick and to the point. I hope you've enjoyed reading them so far. 
> 
> If you haven't read Chapter 1 of "A Late Night Wager" I would suggest reading that one first, then this one....but up to you.
> 
> ENJOY!

#  Chapter 2:  The Locket in the Guardhouse

Sandor had broken his fast on a loaf of bread, three healthy slices of greasy bacon and two huge buckets of water -- one just to dip his head in, the other to drink. While that may have cured some of his hangover, it had really just left his synapses free to announce the other mysterious aches and pains his body had. The one on the back of his head was particularly disconcerting.

 

_ ‘You’re getting old dog.’ _ He chastised himself,  _ ‘But not too old to put a twenty-four year old through her paces.’  _ At that thought he grinned smugly, though his memory was still failing him.

 

Of those that had gone to war Sandor had been among the older men, and one of the few of the older men that had not succumbed to death in all its many ways, shapes and forms. If anything he’d gained a reputation for being one hard son of a bitch, and was looked up to by the men he had commanded. He’d never seen himself as a leader, but his experiences up North of the Wall had changed him -- probably for the better.

 

_ ‘They’d all be begging me for the story of what happened last night.’  _ He mused as he made his way through the sleepy halls of Winterfell castle. He would have just made it up of course, since his recollections still eluded him. Though with Sansa there was no bullshit. She had been there afterall, willingly even. If he was going to win this little wager, he’d have to jumpstart his ailing brain in one form or fashion.

 

When he did reach Sansa’s chambers the door was still closed, a sign that he had not arrived too late to escort her around the castle. A wave of relief washed over him at this realization. It wouldn’t do to make a bad impression on her the first day of work,  _ ‘Particularly when I made such a good impression on her last night.’  _ He snorted to himself as he waited.

 

Though, now that he thought about it, she should have been ready by now. Shifting uncomfortably outside her door, his simple thoughts slowly turned to nervousness at seeing her again.  _ ‘Perhaps she’s gone already, or even … avoiding me. Clegane if you fucked his one up I’ll never forgive you.’   _ He looked down at his cock threateningly, as if it had something to do with last night’s follies. 

 

For a man who had fought the armies of the Night King and wasn’t given to nervousness, it was a rather horrible feeling to wait outside the room of the woman you had slept with the night before and wait for her. Fortunately Sandor didn’t have to worry that much longer, the door to her rooms began to open and her handmaiden came out of her room giggling. Upon seeing Sandor there she stopped abruptly, a flash of fear followed by acknowledgement crossed her face. Then she did something Sandor felt odd, she looked him over once, her eyes seeming to settle between his legs, then walked past him a blush across her cheeks.

 

It was only then that Sandor realized yet another downside of drinking one’s self into oblivion,  _ ‘Who bloody else knows?’ _ Not that he necessarily minded if Sansa told everybody she knew, he’d fucked the living Seven out of her. The gods knew he was getting the better end of the bargain no matter which way you cut it. Yet the look her hand maid gave him deepened the mystery of just what they had done last night, where and how loudly.

 

Emerging from her chambers looking as fresh as a spring daisy and smelling of lavender, Sansa smiled at him. She had chosen a long braid that came over one shoulder and hung to her waist. A grey dress with a healthy cleavage made Sandor clear his throat as he stood at attention.

 

“Well good morning my Lord.” She said with a knowing smile, one that made his cock jump with excitement. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered sufficiently from your rather strenuous evening.”

 

True, there was nobody else in the hallway but still Sandor was surprised by her braizonness and also relieved by it.  _ ‘So she doesn’t think last night was a mistake. That’s at least one thing going my way.’ _

 

He remained silent, nodding slightly to signal he had heard her. His headache was still stronger than he would have liked, no sense in talking if he didn’t have to.

 

A corner of her mouth twitched slightly at his response, indicating she knew he was still recovering from his hangover but trying not to show it. ‘ _ She thinks she’s going to hang this over my head all day.’  _ He smiled to himself at his own wittiness.

 

“I need to listen to some complaints from the farmers in the Great Hall.” She began, “It should take me until mid-morning and there will be guards there already. So you are...free to do as you please until my audience is over.” 

 

She looked like she wanted to tackle him in the hallway and eat him alive, the way her blue eyes blazed through him. Whatever he had done, he’d ignited a fire in the young Wardeness of the North.

 

_ ‘She’s giving me time to figure it out.’ _ He chuckled to himself. Though he was sure she would be true to her word, he couldn’t help but feel like she would help him out as best she could.  _ ‘Sexy little minx.’ _

 

As tradition dictated he followed two paces behind her, one eye open for danger the other on the rounded curve of her arse. ‘ _ If I didn’t lick that little arse of hers and spank it at least once last night, I was  a fool.’  _

 

He could feel his cock tightening in his trousers at the thought, felt the soreness of his cock too as the blood rushed in.  He had certainly used it plenty last night if his level of erectile discomfort was any indication. There was only so much Sandor could do, he was but a man after all and certainly one not given to welcoming pretty wanton highborn ladies into his bed.  _ ‘Gods what did I do so that she’d only have eyes for me? She could have any man in the Seven Kingdoms and yet she’s chosen to tease and torment me.’ _

 

They were walking past the guardhouse when she stopped abruptly. “Clegane, do make sure they aren't sleeping again when you have a moment.”

 

Their eyes locked for a split second and Sandor could sense there was something more to her request than simply checking up on the guards. He nodded, wondering to myself what kind of a game she was playing and walked her to the door of the Great Hall, only some paces away. 

 

Her eyes darkened as the doors to the Great Hall opened for her, “Have fun.” They were an ominous two words that both wished him well and challenged him to fulfill his part of the wager. Sandor took a long look at her as she made her way into the large hall, where she would hold her audiences. When the door was shut he snorted, pleading with his brain remember what had happened last night.

 

_ ‘We were in the Great Hall feasting and then… _ ” Sandor delved into the depths of his mind as he made his way to the guard tower. Poking his head in, he saw the room a fright -- some wine bottles from the night before scattered across the floor, a chair toppled over on the floor, the normal layer of dust on the stone disrupted by what seemed to be a scuffle -- no.

 

A smirk replaced his concerned look as he knelt down on the floor of the normally orderly room and examined it a bit more closely. Oh he’d been there alright, if the wine bottles hadn’t been an indication the chairs pushed together in a circle would have. Some of his closest men had wanted to trade stories, female conquests was the usual topic at that time of night, and had chosen a quieter place in which to continue the jovial mood. 

 

_ ‘Yeah we took as much wine as we could carry and came here to talk.’ _ Scratching his beard Sandor searched the floor, looking for any indication of what else had happened here. 

 

His trained eyes roved across the floor, looking for anything that might be different from what was normally found in a guardhouse. Then he saw it, next to a pail and a mop in the corner. A locket, one he knew would carry the the sigil of House Stark. Walking to the corner he picked it up and smelled it. 

 

_ ‘Mmmm the sweet smell of lavender.’  _ He grinned, his cock twitching in agreement as it desperately tried to tell him what had happened here in this room no more that some hours prior.  _ ‘If only you could talk little man.’  _ Sandor said to his overactive manhood before continuing with his investigation.

 

Scratching the back of his head and feeling the bump there again bits and pieces of what had transpired there started coming back to him. He’d kissed her, then the world had shifted and against all he could do the ceiling had shifted upward, his head hitting the stone floor with a hard smack, Sansa on top of him. 

 

_ ‘Her lips were like strawberries, her tongue diving into his mouth.’ _ It was a brave feat come to think of it, he’d already drank enough by then that pushing anything down his throat would have been pushing you luck, but she had not managed to make him gag or feel sick. She had writhed on top of him, and once they had broken their kiss he had gone straight for the part of her he’d wanted to see for as long as he could remember.

 

_ ‘Bloody Seven Hells  I was drunk.’ _ He lamented.

 

With force he’d ripped open the top of her dress, her corset laces popping under his bellicose act. She had moaned appreciatively at his actions, a sparkle in her ice blue eyes. That was when the locket had also been torn off, had spilled across the floor and come to rest in the corner. It hadn’t mattered much at the time, but she surely missed her trinket now.

 

Leaning back against the wall a moment he began to let his brain play back to him the foggy memories of what had transpired there, with the hope that he would recall enough to please her Ladyship.


	3. Silk in the Stables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor returns Sansa's locket and is quickly put on the trail of encounter number 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Missy1978 as they asked for it ;-)
> 
> Enjoy!

#  Chapter 3:  Silk in the Stables

 

Sandor stood patiently by the door of the Great Hall, waiting for the moment Sansa would emerge from the room. The word patient really only described his outward appearance, stoic, upright and distant from those around him. Inside, however, Sandor was dying to see her. Fingering the locket in his pocket nervously he remembered how wonderful she felt around him, tight, warm and ready. That was what he could recall anyway, there must have been so much more. He could also remembered her pouty look as he had finished too early. He sighed, acknowledging it wasn’t his best performance.

 

The doors creaked open and the loudness of the room spilled out into the courtyard where Sandor was waiting.  It was uncommon to have a woman at the helm, but there she was the center of attention -- the ruler of these lands. Sandor shouldn’t have been surprised that she was surrounded by men -- but he knew he would have to get used to it. After the war there were quite a few Lords less in this world, and Sandor was sure Westeros was better off for it. Some of these men afforded her the respect she deserved, others watched her backside when they thought neither she nor Sandor were looking. Sandor smirked, knowing he was the only one among them who truly knew how sweet that backside was, as she raised her eyes to his.

 

She had been talking with a younger lordling, a Northman with blue eyes and brown hair. He would have surly fought in the war though Sandor did not know him. Sansa stopped talking to him when her eyes met Sandor’s and she smiled -- a light blush gracing her face. Turning his head in acknowledgement of his Lady, as smiling back would have made their night time activities too obvious, Sandor allowed the cool confidence of her favor sweep over him. She had eyes only for him, which meant he must have laid it on her good and proper. The young lordling was confused as he watched the exchange, clearly not understanding how a beauty such as Sansa could smile so warmly at a beast like him, her sworn sword -- a peasant.

 

The conversation with the young man went on some moments more before they nodded to one another and she began to walk through the courtyard. Sandor quickly resumed his station, following two paces behind her. All of the sudden she stopped in a place where there were fewer people than in front of the Great Hall, Sandor knew this was his chance. Discreetly allowing the locket to slip over her shoulder and in between her breasts Sandor could see the smile form on her cheeks, though he could not see the front of her face. Clasping her fingers around the locket she stood there a moment in silence.

 

“It’s embarrassing to be proven a green boy at my age.” He whispered in her ear, at that she chuckled softly. 

 

Snapping the locket up and putting it in the pocket of her robes, Sansa turned to him a grin on her face. She placed her hand on his chest. “Considering this was not the only thing I was missing this morning, I would say you did well for yourself.”

 

A naughty look passed between them and Sandor felt his manhood twitch at the thought of having her again. Leaning in a little closer so his lips almost touched her ear he whispered, “One down and four to go before that sweet little ass is mine again. My Lady.”

 

There was a possessiveness to his tone that clearly turned her on. She bit her bottom lip slightly as she blushed again.  _ ‘Yeah I must have done something right.’ _ He grinned this time at her, beginning to enjoy their little game.

 

“That’s a bold statement Clegane, considering I’m pretty sure you don’t know where our second little…” She paused a bit and ran a finger down his chest, “...encounter took place.”

 

Pursing his lips together Sandor had to admit to himself he did not. All that he knew was that he had successfully fucked the seven out of the most eligible woman in Westeros. And she was keen to have more. That was all that mattered really -- except for that bloody wager.

 

A triumphant little smirk crossed her face when it was clear to her he didn’t know where to go next.  _ ‘She thinks she’s going to win.’ _ He mused -- but at the moment she certainly was.

 

A sexually tense moment passed between them, as if they were daring the other to make a move, to engage each other in a sexual act right there in the courtyard. When it was clear this wasn’t going to happen Sansa patted him on the chest, “Lord Dashery has a dispute with some peasants over a river. We need to see this for ourselves. Ready our horses, I’ll need you by my side.”

 

With that she returned to a group of lords that had gathered in the courtyard and re-entered into conversation with them, shooting him a naughty eye before turning all her focus to the discussions. It was a little late to bow, but he did it more out of the spirit of the game than anything else. 

 

Sandor wasn’t given to smiling to himself, seven hells his face was caught in a nearly permanent scowl. But not today, not since last night.

 

Approaching the stables the sound of Stranger’s whinny combined with some fierce bucking alerted him to something being out of place. If that hadn’t done it, the stable boy running past him scared out of his mind with a horse bite on his arm would have. 

 

_ ‘What’s got that horse all in a fright?’  _ Sandor wondered. The mighty steed had gone through the war with Sandor, and made it out no less for wear. He was getting old but still fit and feisty -- kind of like his master. Sandor opened the barn door and had to almost laugh at what he saw there. The old stallion had broken through the door of his stall and had begun to mount Sansa’s pretty silver filly. 

 

_ ‘Again, just like his master.’  _ Sandor chuckled as the turned his back to let the horses finish their tryst in private. In doing so his eyes were caught by something in Stranger’s stall that didn’t belong. It was some black material but Sandor knew it should not be there. Walking over to the empty stall, he pushed some hay back and grabbed the garment with his left hand. It was a  pair of black silky underwear. He brought them to his nose, knowing they could only belong to one very special lady. 

 

_ ‘But how did they get here?’  _ Sandor’s mind began to slowly, and not so smoothly, take him back to the night before. But it was still foggy -- hard make out what had happened.

 

_ ‘Her back was against the side of Stranger’s stall.’ _ He was grasping for more, searching the dark recesses of his mind for the truth.  _ ‘No, my back was against the wall.’ _

 

This realization made him grow hard, made Sandor bring his hand between his legs briefly. He and Sansa hadn’t made it to his rooms after their first encounter, oh no -- they had stopped along the way -- several times now that he thought about it. They had been here -- there was no maid, solider or stable boy who had underwear like that.

 

_ ‘Oh she didn’t.’  _ A feral grin crossed his marred face, ‘ _ That naughty naughty little wench.’ _ Chuckling to himself he stuck her silky undergarment in his pocket and allowed his memories to do the rest -- their second encounter slowly replaying itself in his mind.

 


	4. Banging in the Battlements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor realizes he's on his own in finding out the rest of last night's events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe I last updated this story in August. Well....better late than never. I'm really trying to focus on bringing my WIPs down so hopefully this will just be the start of updating stories that need a good update.
> 
> Thanks for keeping with this story!

#  Chapter 4:  A Banging in the Battlements

Sandor had to, of course, wait in order to find some time to discuss his new findings with the Lady of Winterfell. There was something excruciating about riding next to her through the woods, her silky underwear from the stables tucked away in his long riding gloves. It was a constant reminder of last night’s tryst, and the fact that some of the best parts of the night still escaped him.

 

_ ‘I’ve got to get off the bottle.’ _  He thought to himself, almost laughing at himself for his idiocy.  _ ‘But how could I have known she would have wanted me? After all this time and everything I’ve done, she wanted me.’  _

 

There was also something thrilling about knowing Sansa had woken up beside him this morning, that she had smiled at him, kissed him and had eagerly invited him for more. Looking at the men around her, it wasn’t difficult to see how each of them did their best to appeal to the beautiful Wardeness of the North. Some of them sat more upright in their saddles, hoping to draw her eye with their perceived beauty. Others attempted to strike up frivolous conversation, hoping to appeal to her morality and sense of justice. Even then, there were some of these younger lords attempting to appeal to her through their pure masculinity. This struck Sandor as amusing, because many of them had been too young to really fight in the war. Certainly he had not seen any of them on the frontlines. 

 

It never ceased to amaze Sandor how Sansa could both rebuff their advances while finding a solution to their land disputes.

 

_ ‘Perhaps that’s the difference between an old dog like me and young pups like them. Patience and confidence.’ _ Sandor pondered this a moment as she shot him a quick smile from where she stood, on the border of lord Dasherey’s lands. Her eye moved from him to between his legs, then quickly back to the man she was chatting with.

 

_ ‘Be honest with yourself Clegane, it’s really your cock and these charming good looks.’  _ He grinned to himself at the hilarity of this thought as Sandor watched her finish up with the lords, endure them kissing her hand, and slowly but surely make her way to him. 

 

Sandor had readied her horse, though it hadn’t been easy to tear the young filly away from Stranger. His war horse might be old and mean, but he certainly had a way with the ladies. Sandor decided to keep that to himself as he helped Sansa on her horse. She smelled so wonderful, all Sandor could think of was how happy he was to be back in Westeros, back to something meaningful.

 

Mounting his own horse and settling into the saddle, Sandor nodded to Sansa and they took off again toward Winterfell. They rode in silence, until it was sure that none of the other lords, or someone from their entourage, would see them. Sansa had visibly relaxed, her posture on her horse less upright and tense than before. Pulling up next to her Sandor said nothing, merely happy to be in her presence. He was also waiting for the right moment to disclose his new information to her.

 

“We’re fresh out of the most devastating war in Westeros and all these men can think of is which rock, bird and tree belongs to them.” She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “You’d think they would have learned there are more important things in this world.”

 

A grin spread across Sandor’s face at her words. “Aye.” He agreed, pulling out her little black panties and dangling them in the space between her and Sandor. “Like these for instance…”

 

Color rushed immediately to her face as she snatched them from his hand and pulled them close to her body. Sansa’s eyes were wide with surprise, her mouth open in a sort of shocked ‘O’ shape as she looked around the woods to make sure nobody else had seen them.

 

“You are a horrible horrible man Sandor Clegane.” She smiled, laughing at her own reaction. 

 

“And one step closer to winning our little wager.” He added, his voice lowering into its deeper, sexier chords. “Against the wall in the stables no less. What would your Northern Lords think of that?”

 

Pursing her lips together in a smirk, Sansa sized him up. “I care little for what the Northern Lords think.” She thought for a moment then continued, “You’re right. Perhaps it was a miscalculation of mine to help you as long as I have.”

 

“A miscalculation?” Sandor asked in a rather confused tone. “By the sounds of it, it seems you don’t want me to win our little bet.”

 

“Oh I do.” Sansa grinned and blushed prettily for him. “But I also want you to learn your lesson. Nothing good can come out of drinking yourself into oblivion. If anything, it makes you easy prey for loose, wild women.”

 

At that Sandor laughed outright. “Gods forbid I fall prey to that.” 

 

Sansa kept her smile as they approached the gates of Winterfell. “I’ll be taking my lunch in my rooms, I have to look through all the ledgers this afternoon and would prefer some peace while I do it. So I guess that means you have the afternoon off, to recover from your rather trying night.”

 

The way her tongue played across the last three words made Sandor’s heart catch in his throat. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that she wanted him more than for just the physical. She seemed to enjoy his company too. Inclining his head so as to take his leave of her, Sandor couldn’t help but feel giddy despite the fact that he wasn’t really sure what had happened after their time in the stables. 

 

_ ‘Now think you big fucking cunt, think about what happened last night.’ _ While Sandor lead their horses to the stables, he tried to wrack his brain as hard as he could for answers. But the more he thought on the subject of where she pulled him after their sex in the stables, the more his hangover reared its evil head. 

 

Sandor hadn’t walked halfway across the courtyard when he heard some commotion coming from near the stables. Nearing the men, Sandor approached them with a healthy curiosity. 

 

“Well I’m not going up there, not after what they’s heard last night.” One of the men was saying in a rather scared voice. 

 

“It’s not my shift.” Said the other, “So I’m not going up there either.”

 

“But one of us has to.” The first man argued, “One of us must.”

 

Before the second man could kick up a fuss, Sandor inserted himself in the conversation. “What’s going on here?”

 

Both men nearly jumped out of their skin at the sight of him, though everybody knew by now who he was. His was a face only a mother could love, and even then. Sandor sneered and waited patiently for one of them to speak. 

 

After throwing each other some nervous glances, the second man spoke. “There’s a ghost up in the battlements me’Lord.”

 

Sandors face must have clearly show both his skepticism and his displeasure for both men trembled. The first man cut in, “It’s a woman me’Lord. The sorrowful sounds of a woman is comin’ from the battlements. Her ghost was there last night.”

 

The second man continued, “The sound of a woman upset over her cheatin’ husband.”

 

The first man said, “Or grieved over a lost child.”

 

This was ridiculous, Sandor didn’t have to stand there much longer to understand how these two were misconstruing the sound of wind and calling it a ghost. He’d have to go up there and disprove it, or they wouldn’t have anybody on the east battlements. 

 

“Hold these horses, you bunch of superstitious Northern bastards. I’m gonna go up there and prove to you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Sandor’s frustration with the situation was thick in the air for both men shrank from him, but took the reigns of Stranger and the little filly all the same. Turning on his heel, Sandor made his way up the stairs and into the guard tower of the battlements, where these two men were supposed to be. Everything looked normal. There were two chairs, a table and a smouldering fire in the fireplace. There were no sounds that weren’t the creaking of wood or rustling of trees from the wind. The doors on either side of the guard post were ajar, as they should be, so that they could walk their stretch of castle wall and see everything clearly.

 

_ ‘So what the fuck has them so spooked? Other than not wanting to work.’ _ Sandor looked around the room, spotting a small ladder reaching up into the attic of the guard tower. He couldn’t be sure what had drawn him to that spot initially, or how he knew it was there, only that he should probably climb it -- just in case. 

 

Creaking under his weight, the ladder lead Sandor into the top part of the guard tower. Usually extra weapons and wood were stored there -- but of course it could be said that booze and women could at times occupy this space. Smirking, Sandor looked around the dust filled room, and found exactly what he was looking for. Two sets of footprints lead from where he had come up to a darkened corner of the room near some windows he had not known were there. Sandor couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he saw the weapons case a mess, the dust disturbed and the spears rolled across the floor. Looking more closely Sandor saw some handprints on the floor accompanied by what could have only been two sets of knees.

 

“Oh it was a woman they heard alright.” Sandor chuckled. “And yeah, I really gotta stop drinking. It seems there was a wild woman on the prowl.” 

 

It had been the changing of the guards that night that had forced them up this way. Of that Sandor had little doubt. Even in his drunken stupor, he would not have wanted to be caught with the most available and powerful woman in the North screaming her pleasure on the end of his cock -- but it was clear they couldn’t control themselves last night either. Even if it meant almost getting caught.

 

_ ‘Banging in the battlements indeed.’ _ Sandor smiled. Knowing now what was slowly coming back to him, he could only scold himself for his lack of sobriety.  _ ‘We’d be even better together when I’m not drunk off my tits.’ _

 

Standing there a moment longer, Sandor took in the smells and sights before him. Knowing he had unraveled one more piece of Sansa’s little puzzle. 


	5. A Tunic in the Godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor wonders how much Jon knows as they have a quick discussion about the night's events.

#  Chapter 5:  A Tunic in the Godswood

 

Taking his lunch in the courtyard, Sandor pondered where the rest of the night could have taken them. The castle had been full of revelers celebrating the fall of the Night King and the end of the longest winter in history. As the Hound gnawed on a piece of dry meat and some half hardened bread, he grinned at the fact that they had kept themselves hidden from everybody. By the sounds of it from Sansa, and all other accounts, this was probably the best night of sex he had ever had in his life. Sandor smirked to himself knowing that he’d always had a good piece between his legs, no woman had ever complained about what she got there. He knew he also possessed a stamina that was hard to come by -- but all night like he was remembering and as many times as they had done it-- was a kind of record for him.

 

_ ‘Would be easy to say it was because I hadn’t been with a woman since this bloody war began. But it was her really. Fuck!’ _ Sandor cursed himself. ‘ _ All those cold days and nights, in the shittiest conditions imaginable and all I could think of was her. You never thought you’d get the chance again didn’t you dog?’  _

 

Shaking his head, Sandor hoped sitting here in the courtyard and downing two whole buckets of water would key him into one of their last two encounters. The morning’s ride had given him some of his wits back, and filling himself up with something other than alcohol seemed to be the way to win the other half of them back. But before he could even continue his line of desperate thinking, Sandor felt a hardy clop on his back. Turning quickly to see who it was, he was more than surprised to see Jon there.

 

Jon would always be a lad in Sandor’s eyes, though he knew him to be a great warrior and an even better leader. It was just that he had known him for so long, he couldn’t imagine the boy any other way than just that -- a boy. 

 

Nodding his head at Jon’s greeting, Sandor couldn’t help but feel the boy had something up his sleeve. Perhaps it was the grin he wore, or the way his eyes did this kind of funny wiggling thing Sandor had never seen before. Either way, something was afoot and the Hound was sure he was soon to find out what it was. 

 

Having to lift up on his toes to put his arm around Sandor’s shoulders, Jon walked him aside, a sheepish look on his face. “So Clegane, it was a good night last night, yeah?”

 

“Aye.” Sandor answered, not wanting to give Jon anything that would make him further act as strange as he was.

 

“It was the first time everybody really let loose ya know.” Jon said, giving Sandor a wink.

 

“Aye.” Sandor answered, his face turning a bit to look at the boy in a different light.  _ ‘What in the bloody Seven Hells does he want?’ _

 

Looking around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, or watching them, Jon looked Sandor in the eye. “I, uh, found this in the godswood earlier today.” From underneath his cloak, Jon withdrew a crumpled tunic with the insignia of House Clegane on it. The very same tunic he had worn last night. Sandor knew this of course, because he only had three tunics to his name, and only one of them had his house sigel on it. 

 

_ ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. If Jon knows, then everybody bloody knows.’  _ Sandor kept cool though, not knowing where exactly this line of questioning could be going.

 

“Thanks mate.” Sandor said, not grinning at all but taking the crumpled and now very grass stained tunic all the same and stuffing it under his cloak. 

 

“So was she a northern girl?” Jon asked, a twinkle in his eye. 

 

At this point Sandor felt a bit of relief, Jon had only found his tunic -- nothing of his extremely sexy mystery girl. 

 

So he was more inclined to play along. “Aye, now I know why you north boys are all so damn skinny up here.”

 

At that remark Jon slapped him hard on the back a couple of times and they shared a laugh. “So who is she?” They boy asked as innocently as he could, which wasn’t very much if Sandor had to say so.

 

Slapping Jon on his own back quite a bit hard than the boy had him, Sandor merely smirked and they continued their laughing. There was no way in the Seven Hells he was going to tell the King of Westeros, the half-brother, cousin -- hell if he knew -- of the woman he had mercilessly fucked halfway around the bloody keep. He loved her too much for that, Sandor wouldn’t dirty her name.

 

“Good man.” Jon said once he had caught his breath, “But I guess I’ll be learning her name soon enough.”

 

Confusion must have quickly spread across Sandor’s  features for the boy gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Well if you did what I think you did in the godswood, you’re as good as married in the eyes of the Old Gods mate.”

 

Sandor tried not to let his eyes bug out of his head at that. Not that he didn’t want to be Sansa’s man, having her in his bed every night had been the only real tangible thoughts that had gotten him through the war. But that didn’t mean he was ready for it, for that part it wasn’t like she was either. At least Sandor didn’t think so.

 

_ ‘I’ve really really gotta stop drinkin’. _ ’ Sandor could feel his brain working to process what had just been said, and it wasn’t pretty.

 

Winking again Jon smiled. “Well I’ll let you catch your breath.” There was this knowing look on his face as he strolled off to the castle with a bit of a hop to his step -- leaving Sandor to wonder how much that lying little cock sucker could have known before he had approached him.

  
Snorting in amusement, Sandor’s only consolation in this moment was that the mention of the godswood and the grass stains on his tunic had brought back memories of their series of little trysts. ‘ _ At least if the old gods had to see something, it was that.’  _


	6. Handprints on the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor nervously considers how to pop Sansa the question, while discovering their last sexual encounter might have been more public that he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are slowly but surely making it to the end. I'm looking forward to finishing this set of stories -- though I will be sad to seem them end. They will make way for new ideas....and lower my WIP count #goals!

#  Chapter 6:  Handprints on the Window

 

Knowing there were many eyes upon him, Sandor did his best not to rush back to his quarters. He ran his fingers through his hair while he considered Jon’s words. He’d be damned if he said he didn’t love the girl, fuck he’d been in love with her since he’d first laid eyes on her when Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell. That had been years ago, Considering what they had both been through it could have been two or even three life times ago. 

 

Sandor spat on the ground and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow.  _ ‘When the fuck did I start sweating?’  _ He wondered to himself. 

 

There were very few things in this world that could make him sweat as nervously as he was, save the Night King and, apparently, Sansa Stark.  _ ‘What if she just thinks I was getting my rocks off? Just happy to have any woman in my bed?’ _

 

Balling up a fist, Sandor rounded the corner and opened the door to the tower where he had his quarters. He had never been so concerned about a girl before, frankly ever in his whole life. Now all he could do was fret like an old woman about what she might think of him or how to approach her knowing that they basically married in the eyes of her northern gods. It had been only his desire to bring her to a beautiful place to continue their evening that had drawn him to that spot — or at least so he had thought. Sandor was confident though, that even had he known of this custom in advance he would have still done the same thing, just not as drunk as he had been.

 

_ ‘Gods is this how she’s thinking all the time?’ _ He asked himself as he opened the door to this quarters and closed it swiftly behind him. Sansa was given to fretting, at least as a girl she had been. Always concerned about what others were thinking or saying about her. It was inconceivable to Sandor how somebody could impose this kind of nervousness on oneself at all time. That was until he found himself in that exact situation -- worried about what she might think of him and his commitment to her.

 

Ripping off his sword and clothing, Sandor went to his washbasin and freshened himself up.  _ ‘What the fuck am I doing?’  _ He kept asking himself as his hands moved of their own volition. 

 

The Hound never had a girlfriend, had never even considered what it might be like to have a wife. Now Sandor Clegane was fretting over how to approach Sansa Stark with the one big question that had taken over his entire being.  _ ‘Will she even want to marry me?’ _

 

Of course she had been playful this morning, smiling at him and teasing him. Though Sandor would have considered himself a good judge of character, he could not claim to know the inner depths of a woman. Women were a complicated, often deceptive breed. The mighty warrior would have much rather met a hundred white walkers in battle than have to decipher Sansa’s moods and facial expressions. 

 

Sandor thought back to some of the stupid things she had learned as a girl, things he had heard her chirp back to him in King’s Landing. “Politeness is a lady’s armor.” Sandor breathed somewhat defeated. “Hopefully not.”

 

Running wet hands over his body once and giving his sore manhood a quick clean, Sandor went to his bare cupboard to find something fresh to wear. He had no ring, no riches, not even any bloody flowers for the god forsaken North was only just beginning to wake up to the spring. 

 

“Bloody brilliant Dog.” He mumbled to himself fishing out a fresh tunic, black leather trousers and his nice leather jerkin. Sandor pulled a comb through his long hair and picked up a long forgotten bottle of cologne. Opening the bottle he sniffed it reluctantly, surprised the Dornish scent had not gone bad all these years. Pouring some of the oil in a hand, Sandor rubbed it around his beard, neck and dropped his hand between his legs. Not a man given to over optimism, Sandor considered the worst case scenario of not being fresh there should she actually say yes to his big question. Hence deciding he should probably smell nice.

 

“Ok so, what are we saying?” Sandor asked himself. It was a more difficult question than he cared to answer, particularly with his hangover still in the background. 

 

Sandor paced around the room, trying to think of how best to even bridge this topic. It wasn’t like you just walked up to a woman and got down on one knee. “Fuck!” 

 

He was by no means the romantic type, and certainly not good with words -- but it was moments like these when Sandor wished he had listened a little more to those damned stories she loved so much. Where the knight asked the maiden for her hand in some utterly ridiculous way and she said yes. That just wasn’t him, not in the least -- but it was better than what he had at the moment, which was practically fuck all.

 

Trying his lines out loud Sandor continued to pace. “So last night was amazing. I mean you have the….” Sandor shook this off quickly. ‘What am I thinking? You have the stamina of a nymph? You have the most beautiful look in your eye when ride me hard?’

 

This wasn’t going to go well, he was already feeling frustrated and hadn’t even said more than ten words. Sandor balled up his fists. “I’ve dreamed a lot about doing that thing we did last night but….”

 

His blood pressure was rising,  _ ‘If you want to clue her in on how desperate you are for her, then you say it like that you stupid fuck!’ _

 

Turning to hit the wall Sandor’s eye caught something strange on his window. His room was all together a funny place, it had been something else in the castle originally. Though he could not be quite sure what the room had been, it was clear from the way the window went from the floor to practically the ceiling that it used to be a door. So the window was uncharacteristically big, leaving his room colder than most. But Sandor liked it that way. Had it not been for that big door there would be no natural light in the place. Usually he had the curtains pulled a but this morning it had clearly slipped his mind. Now, that the sun trickled in toward the late afternoon, there were some smudges on the window that were unusual. Moving in a little closer to inspect them he could see two thinner hand prints up high, and what could only be part of her face and breasts which had been pressed rather forcefully against the window. 

 

“Wow Clegane, you really put it on her.” Sandor could only marvel at his work, the window looked out into the courtyard, anybody who happened to pass by at the right time in the night might have been able to glimpse her sexy body pressed tightly against the cold window, her warm breath clouding up parts of it. 

 

“Gods she’s perfect.” Sandor ran his hand over his chin, wondering how he was ever going to tell her exactly how he felt without making a mess of it all. 

 


	7. A Bird in His Jaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor gathers the nerve to propose, but finds himself in yet another compromising position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be sad to let these two stories go. But on the other hand I feel a sense of accomplishment in finishing them for you. It's no fun to wonder how a story ends, so hopefully this one will leave you smiling!

#  Chapter 7: A Bird in His Jaws

 

A sudden knock on his door shook Sandor from his rather juicy memories. Looking up from where he sat on his bed, he was somehow very surprised, and yet somehow not. Sansa stood in the doorway, closing the heavy door quietly behind her. She was flawless. Every time he looked at her he was surprised that a woman like her could even think of looking at, much less eagerly fucking, a man like him. A bird willingly putting herself in this old dog’s jaws. 

 

Hopefully he hadn’t fucked it up.

 

She wore a sly smirk on her face. “It’s almost time for dinner my Sworn Sword. And I was wondering if you had anything further to inform me of?”

 

He could see right away that she liked to tease him. She did it with all of the instruments at her disposal; the tone of her voice, the twinkle in her eye, the dip in the neckline of her gown, the way her hair was pulled together -- everything. Getting to his feet Sandor felt that unfamiliar feeling of having a cold sweat envelope him. 

 

Suddenly his mouth was moving before his brain, “Sansa I, uh, about last night…”

 

Sansa wore an innocent look on her face, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. 

 

“Of all the women I’ve ever…” He could have punched himself.  _ ‘What a way to start Clegane.’ _

 

At this she crossed her arms over her chest, a more devilish smirk crossing her otherwise angelic features. 

 

“You don’t look like an insatiable little….” Sandor turned his head away knowing this was also not the route to go. He could feel his cheeks reden in anger and frustration. This was so much more difficult to do in real life than he would have imagined.  _ ‘I need a damn drink.’  _

 

“I mean you. YOU.” Sandor was failing mid sentence, yet again and all she could do was look amused standing mere inches from him. “I’ve wanted to do that with you since….well shit since I first laid eyes on you. You’re fucking all I ever wanted -- ever.”

 

Sandor watched as her teasing smirk turned slowly into true surprise, tears welling up in her eyes. Yet she still said nothing so he felt compelled, for the first time ever, to fill the silence. He dropped to on knee, though he had no idea what he was going to say and could see her bring her hands to her cheeks -- tears streaming down her face. 

 

_ ‘Gods this is excruciating!’ _ He found himself thinking, looking up at her from where he was very uncomfortably positioned below her.

 

There were no words coming to his mouth, it was as if his voice and his greater intelligence had been stolen from him for he just looked up at her and after some time and managed to say in a somewhat impatient way, “Well?”

 

Wiping tears away from her cheeks, Sansa looked down at him a seren look on her face. “On one condition.”

 

He knew what it meant to make deals with this woman, that she had a way of making wagers that put him in compromising positions -- but at this point he didn’t care. He nodded his head and she continued. “That you make love to me right this second you wonderful man.”

 

Of course she didn’t have to say it twice, for he had swept her up in his arms and deposited her playfully on his bed before she could blink. Their lips were hungry for one another’s, their desire palatable in his humble room. In pulling up her skirts he realized that she had no small clothes on, as if she had anticipated what might happen. It made him growl even more.

 

“Gods Sandor, the thought of you was the only thing that kept me sane through the long night.” She managed to say between kisses and removing his jerkin and tunic. 

 

Sandor’s heart swelled, and the tension in his body released. Just knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her was enough. She had been his since before he had left for the war, he just hadn’t known it yet. Her fingers combed hurriedly through his chest hair as they gasped a the touch of one another. She was taking in his scent, and it made him smile thanking the Dornish in a way he had not thought he ever would. 

 

Sandor had barely had time to get his trousers over his bum in all the commotion and line himself up with her very warm and welcoming opening when the door to his quarters burst open again. Squeaking Sansa turned her head to the door and tried to cover her exposed skin. Grabbing a dagger he kept under a pillow, Sandor moved lightening fast to defend his wife -- shooting to his feet in front of Sansa and the bed, his pants around his ankles nearly tripping him. 

 

“Congratulations!!!” He could hear some far too familiar voices cheering before they could fully comprehend what they had walked in on. 

 

The smiling, then rather horrified faces of Jon, Bran, Arya and Gendry greeted Sandor as he stood stark naked with a dagger in his hand. In such shock himself, Sandor wasn’t sure if he should kneel to the king or tell them all to fuck off. Luckily he didn’t have to do much.

 

“Bran!” Came his wife-to-be’s voice from behind him, and she wasn’t pleased.

 

Her younger brother, having been wheeled in a chair for the occasion merely shrugged in that emotionless manner that would give any one the creeps and replied, “I couldn’t keep this from the family. Especially as we’ll have something even more special to celebrate in the late summer.”

 

Sandor had no fucking clue what was going on, only that whatever that had meant made Sansa speechless. 

 

Arya had, in the meantime, wrinkled up her nose a bit and grabbed Gendry’s hand -- though Sandor could see there was a sparkle in their eyes as well. It made him wonder if his and Sansa’s little escapades had inspired others to  do the same. 

 

Jon was the only one of the bunch who tried to at all to act normal, leaning over and reaching out to shake Sandor’s empty hand -- while trying to look anywhere other than below Sandor’s chest. This was hard for the boy, who stood only at chest height to Sandor in the best of times, which mean there was no avoiding the rather large, somewhat oppressive cock in the room.

 

“You’re a ….umm...one lucky man.” Jon managed to say, though Sandor couldn’t be sure whether he was talking about him nailing Jon’s sister or the fact that his erection refused to go down -- even now in front of her whole bloody family.

 

Luckily Sansa came around from behind him and pulled her skirts such that the covered Sandor’s nudity from the waist down. “They mean well.” She whispered with a girlish giggle he had so longed to hear. “But i think we have a lot to talk about.” Sansa kissed Sandor on the cheek. 

 

“Well, there’s a feast.” Arya had managed to pipe up. Sandor was happy for the change in subject, “We just thought we’d come to surprise you… but it seems that….”

 

“Right.” Jon jumped in, “We’ll just leave you two to your celebrations and see you in the Great Hall.” Sandor wasn’t sure what the wink after that sentence was supposed to mean -- but was just happy to hear they were leaving.

 

Awkward smiles all around, his new family slowly retreated out of the room -- closing the door behind them.

 

“What in the seven hells was that all about? How could they even know?” Sandor raised an eyebrow. 

 

Sansa merely smiled, a hand now running over his erection as she rolled up on her toes to kiss him. “Let’s just say that between our little exploits in the godswood and over there,” she pointed to the window, “I think there are few in this castle who didn’t know something was going on.”

 

She blushed at her own admission and Sandor grinned. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on with the Starks and how they could  know all the things they did. All Sandor knew was that, after all these years and all that fighting, that his sacrifices had been worth it. In all his wildest dreams he had never thought he would have something to come back to after the war. But last night and this day had reminded him of why he had fought with such conviction. 

 

“Get on that bed woman, before I press you up against that window for all to see in the day time.” 

 

Making a look as if she were considering her options very carefully, Sansa did finally lay down on the bed, reaching out for him to join her. At least at this point he could safely say, he had won more in their friendly little wager than he ever dreamed possible.

 


End file.
